Tag Archive | creation

At the Narrows

AS SPIRITUAL AS I GET

At the narrowsTwas at the narrows where my life truly began. That tricky, tortured, desperate spot, that rushing water place where I was bloodily birthed. Where I took my first sustained breath.

Yes, I lived before. I breathed the gas known as air. Been pulled screaming from age to age. Reincarnated over and again, racing pell mell through time. One thing, then the next to hollow me out, scrape me to my core, fill my lungs with junk and sleeze and porn and sadness. And occasional beauty but of the unreal kind.

This time started no different. Who am I to expect anything better? The narrows is an untrusting place where destiny can turn in an instant. A simple disinterested look, better things to do, a glance of rejection will change your course. Self loathing. I should have known. This is no place for me. It is too dangerous, I can’t navigate these choppy waters, this shifting canal. How naïve, how foolish I am to think I can conquer this wild turbulent slide.

I watched in disbelief, feeling my soul rise up and look down on the carnage. There I lay, open, waiting with innocence for transportation to the next realm. Expecting to be welcomed, presuming safe passage. Believing the narrows wanted me. How could that dark exotic place not desire the thrill of my company? Unthinkable. And yet, this portal of trepidation was silent. It craved me not. I might have stayed in the womb forever for all the narrows cared about my deliverance. I sat stunned, unwanted, wishing my next life away. Hoping for death, for miscarriage. Just let me go home. Please, just let me go home.

But as I prepared to slit my throat and drive back to the safety of the static never-changing pool, a miracle of creation occurred. The narrows widened, just slightly. It heaved. It pulled with new found muscles, pushed its cilia and swallowed. Through the treachery, past the vast ocean of regrets, down the cascade of tired resignation and frightened insecurity. Waving me back and forth, inching me along, allowing me finally through.

And I was born once more, this time. Into a revel of love. A journey of joy. First breath.

In Celebration of the Summer Solstice

MOTHER NATURE

spring-flowers

In celebration of the summer solstice, I say goodbye to this difficult, demanding, dissonant spring.

 

[Excerpt from PERSEPHONE IN HELL]

“Spring had come again, a time of great confusion in the natural world of southeastern Massachusetts. A time for tiny delicate crocus to bud, only to be buried and sometimes crushed under a late snowfall. For robins to fly home from their wanderings even before the earthworms work their way out of the frozen ground.

Azaleas bloom one week; daffodils another. Antisocial forsythia’s already come and gone along with the snowdrops. Cherry blossoms and rhododendrons and tulips awake in no particular order. Crab apples usually flower last, but not always.

Skunk and raccoon, squirrel and chipmunk scurry out of their nests willy nilly, looking for something fresh to eat after the long lonely winter. Everybody’s lean and hungry. All living things in the spring look for their chance, search for a place to thrive, jockey for position.

Perhaps there is harmony and concordance in a New York spring, or in Pennsylvania, or Washington DC. But in southeastern Massachusetts, Mother Nature cries out a dissonant prelude. She doesn’t desire a symphony of bloom. She fights to keep everyone and everything under her domain on guard.

She prefers to conduct a guessing game. Can I keep that blue jay from stealing my nest? wonders the worried female cardinal just laying her eggs. Maybe I could use that nest to lay my eggs, the tired female blue jay thinks, searching for a suitable place to land. It is survival of the fittest, and Mother Nature is cruel. She’s tough, demanding disorderly progressions in spring. Because she knows once summer comes, both flora and fauna – anyone who’s survived the spring grows strong.

There is an inevitable harmony in the summer solstice. That’s the easy part. But it’s the getting there that counts. Spring brings chaos and uncertainty, discordant notes and solo acts whose timing may be all off. It’s meant to make us fit and able. Any good mother wants her children fit and able for the times to come. It’s the law of nature.”

 

 

Birth Song

AS SPIRITUAL AS I GET
I came screeching into life

On a frigid snowy evening

Winter day in Massachusetts

Winter day in Massachusetts

Not unlike this one
But oh, so many years past
And mother almost dropped me
Right in the car
While father panicked
Sliding down the road with
Rear wheel drive
Another beat up old black Buick
Skating on invisible ice
But she held on
My mother, strong
Determined to control the night
Swearing, carrying the pain of humankind
In her slim and tired form
She held tight
While Dad steered the way
Through the gloomy woods
And cloud laden fields
Cow pastures locked in white
Flakes as big as a baby’s fist
Shielding the murky sullen way
But through the frozen gloom
A wonder world appeared
An oasis in the bitter storm
Utopia
And the hospital cheered us on,
Praise be!
Hallelujah!
Or so it seemed
Its glaring bright lights
Full-lit windows
Bigger than any moon
Starred, dotted with smiling faces
And helpful welcoming hands
They took us in

Thus was I born